Sweat is running into my eyes as I drive the posthole digger into hard-packed clay soil. I scoop out more chunks of rock and clay, then bend to measure the depth of the hole. It has taken more than an hour to dig down the first two feet, and there's another foot to go.

My back and shoulders are about to revolt when my neighbor Tom walks up and asks, "Would you like me to dig for a while?"

"Sure," I say, and hand over the posthole digger.

It's a community workday at Pacifica, the cohousing community where I live. Tom and I are installing a lamppost for a solar-powered streetlight. Others are busy finishing the playground or cleaning the Common House.

Pacifica sits on eight acres within walking distance of downtown Carrboro, and is part of an international movement of cooperative cohousing communities. Our neighborhood has 46 townhouses planted in four rows, woven together with asphalt and cobblestone walking paths. The road and parking wrap around the outside of the neighborhood like a ladle, keeping the interior quiet and safe. Rooted in the center is the Common House with meeting space, dining hall, guest bedrooms, laundry and a restaurant-size kitchen. Our homes are privately owned, while the land and infrastructure are owned in common. Our households -- a mix of families, couples and individuals -- manage the neighborhood collectively through a consensus process of decision-making.

Planning for Pacifica began more than seven years ago, and residents began moving in during summer 2006, with the last houses finished this winter. I joined five years ago, inspired by the community's environmentally sustainable design. Our energy-efficient homes are passive solar, sitting on a north-south axis with plenty of windows to allow in winter sun. Many homes have a solar hot-water system. The Common House has solar hot water, as well as solar panels for electricity and a 12,000-gallon cistern that collects rainwater to use for laundry, toilets and community gardens.

Pacifica also appealed to me because of its cooperative spirit of community living. We work together to build and maintain our common property, and we share the support and closeness of an old-fashioned neighborhood. I swap gardening tips with Shane, walk in the woods with Marc, borrow tools from David, discuss movies with Stephen, ride to contra dances with Bree, watch Tar Heel games with Sara and Sharon, trade cat care with Liz and get help fixing my car from Chris and Pluto.

About half our households participate regularly in decision-making, and while some bemoan the lack of full participation, others find two dozen voices more than enough to slow consensus. We have lively debates about budgets, community labor and landscaping, yet our process can be incredibly productive because we take the time to listen to one another and nurture new ideas. When the best option for tackling invasive wisteria appeared to be a weedkiller, some residents opposed the use of herbicides, while others believed it was justified to protect native species. Through research and dialogue, residents developed an effective application method that minimized the use of chemicals.

When Pacifica was first being planned, some nearby neighbors opposed the development. One wrote an angry letter to the local newspaper complaining that we were trying to create "Cultopia" in her neighborhood.

The slur was clever, but Pacifica neither qualifies as a cult nor claims to be a utopia. We're more like an evolving experiment, busy creating an alternative model of community, while still learning how to live together. We have disputes and disagreements, even over shared values like "community" and "sustainability." And despite our cooperative intentions, the personal and interpersonal challenges of cohousing can be daunting. Recently I had a conflict with a neighbor, and I've felt uneasy about living so close and not getting along. As my friend Murray says, "If you want all your deepest issues to come up, join a community."

Yet whenever I question my commitment to cohousing, I recall an autumn potluck dinner celebrating the birth of the first baby at Pacifica.

The Common House simmered with aromas from a bounty of delicious foods, and conversation streamed across the tables. After the meal, Bobbie sang a song, Carol read a poem, and Martha shared her appreciation for Luisa and Badi, the mother and father to be.

Momentarily forgetting all the challenges of living here, I found myself tearing up. It was a reminder that there's nowhere I'd rather be.